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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416641">His blood on my hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisaeleonor/pseuds/Lisaeleonor'>Lisaeleonor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Feels, Hurt John Watson, John Watson is clueless, Minor Injuries, POV Sherlock Holmes, Panic Attacks, Panicking Sherlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisaeleonor/pseuds/Lisaeleonor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets hurt and Sherlock try not to show how much it affects him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>His blood on my hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the “oomph” that made him stop the pursuit of the suspects. A strange sound that didn’t match what he and John were doing. A running John would sound breathless, maybe cursing if he tripped over something. He shouldn't make a sound like the wind had been blown out of him. He could have fallen. It had been raining earlier and the ground was still wet. But then Sherlock would have heard John fall before the “oomph” and he hadn’t heard a thing. Then there was the sound of John’s knees hitting the pavement. That made Sherlock turn around and sprint back to where John was kneeling. He was clutching his side, grimaching.<br/>
“The bastard had a knife” he said through gritted teeth. Sherlock tried to see where the knife had penetrated. Too low for the lungs, but high enough for it to have hit the spleen if they were really unlucky. Or the intestines with all ist bacterias. He knew the risk for a deadly septic shock if the bowels were punctured. He crouched down, prying John’s hand away. The blood flow was steady but not gushing. Maybe the knife had missed the spleen or any major wessels. Or John was bleeding internally as well. Sherlock pushed that thought aside, he could do nothing to stop an internal bleeding so he had to focus on what he could do. He fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket with one hand, the other one he had pressed against John’s wound. John put his hand over Sherlock’s.<br/>
“I can manage,” he said quietly, clearly in pain. Sherlock nodded and let go of John. He dialed 999 and gave them their exact position and what had happened. He made it sound like a mugging instead of what they really had been doing, they didn’t need to know that. Then he put the phone back in his pocket and looked at John. He was pale in the light from the streetlight but it didn’t have to mean anything. It could be the pain just as much as the bloodloss.<br/>
“Here”  he said and helped John to lean against the nearest building. He took off his scarf and used it to press against John’s side. The response time for the ambulance should be five minutes. With the amount of bleeding, John should last at least fifteen before he went into shock. But that calculation hinged on that he wasn’t bleeding internally. Sherlock tried not to think about that and focused on putting pressure on the wound. He knew that there was nothing as too much pressure in this situation so he ignored John’s grunts of pain. It was harder to ignore the feeling of his scarf getting wet with John’s blood.<br/>
“Sherlock” came in a low voice from John. Sherlock looked up and met John’s eyes. He was paler now and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. Three minutes to go and then the ambulans would be here.<br/>
“I’m fine you know” He saw Sherlock’s face and smiled. “I will be fine, I’ve had worse”. Sherlock pursed his lips together, thinking that John had been close to dying before so the comparison didn’t calm him a bit. He nodded and strained his ears listening after the sirens of the ambulans. After seven minutes (must be a lot of traffic) he could hear the steps from the paramedics and called out for them. Quite unnecessary because they were the only ones in the alley. The men they had been chasing must be miles away by now Sherlock thought but he couldn’t care less. He stood back as the paramedics took over and put John on a stretcher and wheeled him to the ambulans. His knees wobbled a bit as he got in after them and they didn’t question his presence. He scanned the monitors that showed John’s blood saturation and pressure. They weren’t great but he was not near going into shock either. He was clutching his scarf that one of the paramedics had given him back. He didn’t know what to do with it. It was a nice scarf, he didn’t want to throw it away. It had been a christmas present from Mrs Hudson. But he didn’t want to put it in his pocket either and get blood all over his coat. He looked down into his lap and realised that he had gotten blood and whatever had been on the ground in that alleyway all over his coat already. He sighed and put the scarf in his pocket. Now his hand’s felt strangely empty. He longed for a cigarette, or something stronger. Anything to take the edge of all the feelings that he felt right now. He had been busy up until this point. Now his job was done. He had helped John as much or as little as he could. Now his job was to step back, shut up and let the professionals do their job. They had had that argument a couple of times where they had needed to go to the hospital and Sherlock had told everyone what to do. John had said it was rude and made him feel embarrassed as it was his colleagues. Sherlock had said that John didn’t work and that hospital but John meant that it didn’t matter. So he kept quiet, he only spoke when they were trying to put him in the waiting room while they examined John.<br/>
“I’m his partner” he said to the nurse who was trying to usher him away. He knew she would misinterpret the word partner and let him stay. He met John’s eyes and they had a bit of a quiet conversation. He knew John wanted him to stay, he always did. But John also alway got flustered when people thought that they were a couple. Sometimes the ends justify the means. As Sherlock had predicted, the nurse let Sherlock stay if he kept out of the way. But everyone was adamant (even John) that he wasn’t allowed in the operating theater when they wheeled John away to get stitched up. Sherlock spent the time chain smoking through the bathroom window instead. Thinking that John would complain about the smell later but that the nagging would be something comfortably normal.<br/>
John got a private room as soon as he woke from the anesthetic. Sherlock wasn’t sure if this was just luck or if they did it because John was one of their own. He curled up into one of the plastic chairs next to John’s bed. They had given him a fold up bed to use but he knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. John was still a bit out of it and their conversations mostly consisted of John saying something and falling asleep before Sherlock had time to reply. Sherlock didn’t mind that John was sleeping though. John looked comfortable. His colour was back and he smiled. He didn’t even comment on the smoking. Which made Sherlock regret smoking in the first place. The nicotine was making him more fidgety than he already was. He was restless. The adrenaline from before was gone now and left him with a feeling he didn’t want to acknowledge. Instead, he listed all the signs that John was going to be okay. Then he listed all the ways that it was Sherlock’s fault that John had gotten hurt in the first place. He must have nodded of midway though the (long) list because he woke with a jolt when a nurse came in with breakfast.<br/>
“Oh you poor thing, you could have just used the bed you know” She said as she saw Sherlock massage his neck.<br/>
“And be comfortable. That’s a swear word in Sherlock’s book” John was smiling as he slowly and gingerly lifted himself to a sitting position.<br/>
“Comfortable is not the word I would use to describe a fold up hospital bed.” John chuckled and vinced.<br/>
“Seems like you have to be boring for a while or I will rupture some stitches.” Sherlock didn’t know how to respond, but John didn’t seem to need one. He ate his breakfast under silence, clearly hungry. He forced Sherlock to have some saying that he wouldn’t eat if Sherlock didn’t. Since Sherlock knew that John needed the energy for his recovery he unwillingly ate whatever John gave him. John was free to go home after rounds with strict orders to check up with his GP. They rode home in silence. They sneaked up the stairs hoping to avoid Mrs Hudson. None of them wanted to tell her where they had spent the night. John walked slowly up the stairs but waved away Sherlock’s hand when he wanted to help. Sherlock waited at the door instead, trying not to fidget as he waited. He took John’s coat and hung it up. John had borrowed scrubs and the hospital to ride home in.<br/>
“I’ll get you some new clothes” Sherlock said, already halfway up the stairs to John’s room. He chose the softest shirt he could find, thinking that it would be best with clothes that didn’t require John to lift his arms too much. John was still standing next to the couch as Sherlock came down.<br/>
“Cheers mate” he said and tried to get his shirt off. It was painfully slow. Sherlock wanted to scream as he looked on. Instead he walked closer.<br/>
“May I?” he asked. John looked at him and blushed but nodded anyway. Sherlock stepped even closer, slowly taking the shirt of and helping John put his arms in the new one.<br/>
“I can keep these trousers. It’s not like I’m going anywhere today” John smiled. Sherlock tried to smile but his face muscles didn’t seem to work. He needed to get out of John’s line of sight before John catched on. Luckily John sat down in his armchair with his back to Sherlock.<br/>
“Tea?” Sherlock asked.<br/>
“Yeah, thanks Sherlock that would be nice” Sherlock walked into the kitchen. He tried to fill the kettle but his hands were shaking too much. The world had begun to be fussy round the edges. He hadn’t breathed properly in too long.  He manages to walk into his room and close the door before the panic he had fought since he saw John on the ground came crashing over him. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes to the onslaught of emotions. He fell to his knees and had to catch himself with his hands to not fall face first into the carpet. Thinking of the sound of John falling in the same way. His knees had made a louder thud than Sherlock and he thought that John must still be sore. Probably the reason why John had been so slow up the stairs. Sherlock gasped, trying to force air to his lungs. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He could taste the salt in his mouth. Mingled with koppar, he must have bitten himself in the mouth at some point. He tried to focus on something small. Not thinking about what could have happened. If the blade had hit the spleen or an artery, John could have bleed out in that alleyway. Or the knife could have hit a lung and Sherlock would have been forced to sit and watch John slowly suffocate. He tried to think about how the carpet felt against his fingers instead of how it had felt yesterday feeling John’s blood warming his hands. The carpet felt soft and a bit gritty, he rarely let Mrs Hudson hover inside his room. He crawled on all four to his dresser, using it to stand up. He opened a window. The cold air helped him to draw a proper breath. Like he knew it would. He needed to calm down. He needed to get out to John and make that cup of tea and pretend that the thought of losing John hadn’t brought him to his knees, quite literally. John had been stabbed, he shouldn't have to comfort Sherlock now. He was the one who had put John in harm's way and he was the one who should be the strong one right now. This weakness was quite unacceptable. The anger he felt helped him to take a few breaths and the world came into clearer focus. He swore as he heard John walking around in the kitchen. He walked with unsteady steps across his room, wiping away the tears and he went. He paused and took two almost full breaths, the best he could do during the circumstances, before he opened the door. He rarely used his ability to hide his emotions in front of John so it took a second to get into character.  John was opening and closing cupboards and drawers with more force than necessary.<br/>
“I…” Sherlock started, wondering what to say. It wasn’t like he could tell John about his panic attack.<br/>
“Had something more pressing to do than to help your friend who was stabbed not 24 hours ago” John spat.<br/>
“I was going to I just…” John seemed too upset to notice that Sherlock didn’t finish his sentences.<br/>
“Well you didn’t and now I’m done”. John put a mug down on the kitchen table in front of Sherlock. Some of the tea spilled out.<br/>
“I’ll just go and see if Mrs Hudson has some biscuits”. Sherlock mumbled and fled down the stairs. He went straight to her not so hidden stash and picked John’s favourite. At least he could do that. He picked up his own mug on the way back to the living room and sat down opposite John. John gave him a tight smile that said that he was almost forgiven. He had to take some deep breaths through his nose not to start crying by the sheer normalness of it.<br/>
“Cheers,” John said and bit into a biscuit. He picked up a newspaper and riffled through it. It gave Sherlock time to just look at him. John was fine, Sherlock was going to be fine as soon as he stopped seeing John bleeding out as soon as he closed his eyes. And he would be more careful next time.</p>
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